


a spark in your center

by farseersfool



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Viktor POV, but that's three halves!!, canon compliant until episode 10, i am aware, these two are Extra (tm) enough to justify that, this is approximately half character study half feelings and half porn, yet another coda to episode 7, you'll pry demisexual yuri from my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 15:57:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8673559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farseersfool/pseuds/farseersfool
Summary: This hadn't been part of the plan.None of this had been part of the plan. Not the kiss, not the public spectacle, and definitely—absolutely, under no circumstances—not the part where he'd fallen in love with Yuri Katsuki.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from _Smokestacks_ by Layla
> 
> Takes place between episodes 7 and 8
> 
> EDIT: this was written before episode 10 came out and changed everything (on that subject, OMG). Anyway, for the purpose of this fic, pretend the banquet scene didn't happen.

This hadn't been part of the plan.

 _None_ of this had been part of the plan. Not the kiss, not the public spectacle, and _definitely—absolutely, under no circumstances—_ not the part where he'd fallen in love with Yuri Katsuki.

See, despite what the media and everyone else seemed to think, there _had_ been a plan in the first place. Viktor was uncomfortably aware that, as a professional figure skater, he was nearing his natural expiration date. He had another good season in him, _maybe_ two if he was careful, but there would come a time that his body would fail him. Years and years of intense training had put more strain on his muscles and joints than the passage of time would have alone. He could feel it happening already—his right knee gave a twinge every time he landed a jump even a little bit roughly, and something in his ankle throbbed when he bent back for a spin.

It wasn't something that he liked to think about, but it was something that he knew he _needed_ to think about. After his last Grand Prix Final win, it was something that he'd had to think about a _lot_. The way Viktor figured, he had two options, really. He could keep skating, of course. If he did, however, some younger skater would inevitably surpass him. There was a point where youth _would_ trump experience in such a physically demanding sport. He might also risk an injury that would destroy his ability to skate recreationally, let alone competitively.

The other option was to just...quit. To retire. To go out on a high note instead of trying to keep competing and seeing himself fall further and further behind the next generation of skaters.

He didn't really care for either option. No matter what he chose, he was left feeling like a used-up old man, never mind the fact that he was still a few years off from being thirty. And yet, when he'd looked at the pros and cons of each, the second option was _obviously_ the better one.

The problem, then, was figuring out what to do with himself if he wasn't skating. He had been mere hours away from phoning Yakov to break the news and ask for advice when the video of Yuri skating his routine had gone viral.

And with it, everything had changed.

It was like the stars had aligned, the heavens had opened up, and the third option he'd needed had descended from above with a glorious fanfare.

He wouldn't leave skating behind after all—he'd just shift roles from competitor to coach. He'd go to Japan, convince Yuri to let him stay, unlock the potential he'd seen, win competitions vicariously through him.

That had been the plan. The _whole_ plan. No feelings involved.

He wasn't sure when it had all gone wrong.

Sure, he'd teased, he'd flirted—it was hard not to; Yuri was so _cute_ when he was flustered. Of course, that shouldn't have been a big deal. Viktor thought plenty of men were attractive, and he'd never lost his head over any of them.

Somewhere along the way—maybe in those last charged, tense seconds before Yuri's performance at the Onsen on Ice event, maybe in those quiet, achingly honest moments on the beach—he'd gotten invested. In Yuri, the person. Not Yuri the skater.

And he didn't know what to do about that.

If he was certain of anything anymore, months after first meeting Yuri, it was that he didn't want to screw this up. He'd never, in his life, needed so desperately to do something _right._ Which was why he'd been showing admirable—in his opinion, at least—restraint. He hated putting it in these terms, but for as long as he could remember, Viktor had pretty much gotten his own way.

This wasn't to say that he'd always been happy. On the contrary, he rarely felt _anything_ particularly deeply, be it joy, sadness, or anger. Yakov always, half-jokingly, told him that he hadn't been hugged often enough as a child, and he was emotionally stunted because of it. And honestly? Viktor was inclined to accept his theory. Still, materially speaking, he hadn't wanted for anything, even as a young and arguably spoiled kid.

His mother had died when he'd been too young to remember her, or miss her much. His father, successful businessman that he was, had been mostly absent from Viktor's childhood, off on some trip or another across the globe. So, he'd been raised by a series of nannies and tutors who, while no parental substitute, had made sure he never lacked for any comfort—treats from his favorite bakery, every toy he showed a modicum of interest in, expensive clothes and shoes that his body would outgrow in a matter of months, et cetera, et cetera.

It was a mindset that had extended into his adult life. He'd inherited his late mother's delicate charm, and he'd put it to good use. All he had to do was smile, tilt his head suggestively, and whichever man Viktor had his eye on at the moment would end up wrapped around his little finger.

Skating was the one thing he'd really had to work at, the one area of his life in which he'd been pushed and criticised, where he'd had to show sincere discipline. So of course, it had become the most important aspect of his life, the one he focused on, made a real effort in.

Yuri...well, he was the same, in that regard. Viktor had had been with plenty of people, had had his share of flings, but he'd _never_ been so gone on anyone before. It had always been physical contact, the slick friction of skin on heated skin, pleasure and release. But never emotional intimacy. He'd never really even _wanted_ that, before.

Yakov's biggest criticism of his _Stay Close to Me_ routine was that it had been lacking real passion. Viktor had brushed off that criticism at the time—he'd won with it, hadn't he? But those words had come back to him, the day he watched Yuri skate it on the tiny screen of his phone. His own performance _had_ been missing something. Something that Yuri, out of shape and out of practice, had added without even realizing it. It was a subtle but poignant thing, a statement that was etched on every line of his body, carved into every motion of his limbs as he'd flown across the ice.

And now, when Viktor considered Yakov's words again, they rang absolutely true: he'd been skating a routine about love and longing, despite never having really felt it.

At least, not at the time.

Now, he had a pretty good idea.

And he didn't want to mess it up.

The day of the free skate in Beijing, however, he seemed determined to do just that.

He'd known that he was taking a risk, threatening to resign as Yuri's coach. It was the kind of thing that Yakov had done to him on more than one occasion. And it had worked. It had irritated the hell of him too, enough to make him want to succeed out of spite, if for no other reason.

But he should have known that it wouldn't be the same for Yuri. There was something soft about Yuri, a core of vulnerability that the world hadn't managed to take and turn into something hard-edged and jagged.

And Viktor had, predictably, done exactly the wrong thing. He'd pressed on a spot that was already sore, tense from anxiety and doubt. He'd had no right, and he had deserved what had come after.

But it didn't absolve him. He had never wanted to see Yuri cry, and especially not because of something he'd done.

Viktor had a lot to learn. About coaching, about Yuri, and about what it was like to love someone.

But then, not even an hour later, he'd gone and done the wrong thing _again._ He really, really hadn't planned to kiss Yuri. When Viktor had run to meet him after that absolutely stunning performance, it had been with the full intention to take him into his arms, to hold him and tell him how well he'd done, how impressed he'd been. But then, Yuri had skated toward him, arms outstretched, face open and alight with joy and so, so beautiful, and, well, self-control had never been Viktor's strong suit, and he'd already been so restrained for so long.

Needless to say, it wasn't how he had imagined their first kiss would go.

There were a hundred reasons why he shouldn't have—him being Yuri's coach, and the event being internationally televised among them. Yuri's reaction hadn't _really_ been in question, though. Viktor was good at reading people, even reserved ones. He hadn't missed the signs. The glances that lingered a second too long on his mouth, the way his pupils widened when Viktor walked out of the shower in nothing but a towel, how he would lean into touches, now. Yuri wanted him, too, and he knew it. _That_ part hadn't been one of the concerns. It was just...everything else.

What rankled him the most was that they were immediately swept into interviews and awards ceremonies, having to put on an act for the public, when all he wanted to do was go back to the hotel so they could _talk._ It had happened, and it needed to be addressed.

But he put his annoyance aside, smiled for the camera, and spouted off rehearsed lines at the reporters until finally, _finally,_ they were free to go.

The cab ride back to the hotel was silent. Part of it was uncomfortable—Viktor had been too preoccupied to figure out exactly what he wanted to say, and at any rate, this wasn't a conversation he wanted to have with an audience, even if it was just the driver, who didn't seem to speak much English to begin with. But the bigger part was that Yuri was clearly _exhausted._ Almost the moment he'd sat down and buckled himself into the car, he'd slumped against the window and shut his eyes, either dozing or doing a very good impression of it.

The car pulled up to the hotel entrance, and Viktor paid the driver before placing a hand on Yuri's shoulder to wake him up.

“We're here,” he said, and Yuri blinked a few times, groggy and disoriented. Still, he opened the door and got out a moment later, shivering as the cold night air hit him. Viktor, almost without thinking about it, had gone around to the other side and put an arm around his waist to share what body heat he could. Yuri leaned into the touch, but didn't say anything. Viktor would have given a _lot_ to know what was going through his head.

Still, neither of them said a word on the way into the hotel, and over to the elevator. It was considerably warmer inside, too, but he didn't pull his arm away, and Yuri didn't shrug him off.

It was only when the elevator doors closed behind them, leaving them in an empty hallway, that Viktor managed to break the silence.

“So. I kissed you,” he said simply.

“Yes,” Yuri replied.

“We need to talk about this.”

“Yes,” Yuri answered again, this time more softly, with something like trepidation in his voice.

Viktor wasn't entirely sure how to approach this, now that the ice had been broken, so he used the act of unlocking the room as an excuse to gather his thoughts.

This was uncharted territory for him. For both of them, at that. Strangely, the thought wasn't comforting. Sure, Viktor had brought men up to his hotel rooms in the past, had kissed them and let them touch him, but this was nothing like that. He didn't want Yuri for a night or for a weekend. He wanted Yuri for _always,_ and the idea was scary to him.

And yet, Yuri didn't even have that much context. He'd been able to get enough information out of him to figure out that Yuri had never been in an intimate relationship before. Viktor wasn't one hundred percent certain, but he thought that what had happened earlier might very well have been his first real kiss.

And he'd gone and done it on _live TV._ He could have kicked himself.

At any rate, Viktor had never been in any sort of committed relationship. But he did have a decent idea—in theory, at least—of how they should work.

“Would you be interested in doing it again?” He asked, pushing the door open and holding it. He didn't miss the way Yuri's face went scarlet as he passed through into the room.

His “yes,” this time, was almost inaudible.

But Viktor wouldn't, not until a few things were clear.

“I can't be your coach when we're together,” he said, stepping into the door and closing it behind him, latching it.

The momentary flash of panic on Yuri's face made Viktor grimace at his word choice. He was finding a way to mess _this_ up, too.

“I mean...” he started to clarify, but trailed off. He took a deep breath and soldiered on. “I mean to say that I can't _act_ like your coach if we're going to be together. Not off the ice. I won't be judging your performance or anything, or criticising you. I won't push you to do _anything_ you're not comfortable with.”

Yuri looked a little puzzled, opened his mouth like he was about to speak, but the distinction was _important_ to Viktor.

“And I absolutely won't withhold affection if you don't do well in practice or an event. You don't have to try to impress me; I...” he faded out again, getting dangerously close to the sort of emotional confession that he'd spent so long avoiding.

But, embarrassing or not, Yuri deserved it. Deserved Viktor's best, and nothing else.

“You don't have to try to impress me, because I've already fallen for you,” he said, casting his eyes to the side to avoid Yuri's face, which had been a mix of nervous, tired, and something indefinable throughout this.

“Viktor,” Yuri said, at long last, the tone of his voice demanding that he look him in the eyes again. “I'm an adult, not a child. I _know_ all that..”

This surprised Viktor, who hadn't been entirely sure _he'd_ known this until he said it out loud. He was beginning to suspect that Yuri understood him better than he understood himself—or, at the very least, that Yuri's emotional intelligence was miles above his own.

Seeing Viktor standing there, still just barely inside the door to the room, mouth slightly slack with surprise, Yuri rolled his eyes, grabbed the lapel of his coat, and tugged him down so that their faces were level. The motion was at odds with the fierce blush that had spread over his face again.

“Now, are you going to kiss me, or what?” he asked, voice gone low and quiet, for him alone.

And, really, who was Viktor to say no to that? With a single step, he closed the distance between them, tilting his face down just as Yuri turned his up, their mouths meeting like they'd been made to fit together. It was only the second time their lips had touched, but already it felt familiar, felt like home.

Yuri's hands were still clenched into the fabric of Viktor's coat, and Viktor spent a few second frantically tugging off his gloves and dropping them to the floor so he could tangle his fingers in Yuri's hair.

They stayed like that a long moment, still save for the soft movements of their mouths, for the gentle slide of Viktor's hands down Yuri's neck to his shoulders.

Finally, he had to pull back; his coat was much too heavy in the warmth of the hotel room, let alone the heat of the body scant inches from his own.

Yuri let him, but not before sucking Viktor's lower lip into his mouth, teeth scraping lightly over it as he withdrew. Yuri's face, when Viktor had pulled away far enough to see it clearly, looked a little scandalized at his own forwardness, which made him crack a grin and lean back in to press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He didn't want to look away from Yuri then—or ever, really—but too many things were pressing on his mind for him to block them out.

“You have to be tired after today,” Viktor commented, turning slightly and shrugging out of his overcoat to hang it up on the nearby hook.

Yuri made a noncommittal gesture; it was his turn to look away from Viktor, now. His face was a study in contrasts, the brightness of the flush in his cheeks and kiss-red lips belied by the glassy exhaustion in his eyes and the deep shadows underneath them.

“I'm not that tired,” he said at last, making an obvious effort to stifle a yawn on the last word.

While Viktor had never felt quite such a thrill knowing that someone wanted him, wanted his lips on their skin, wanted his hands on their body, he also knew that he didn't have to rush, this time. And whatever Yuri said, he was clearly at the point of being asleep on his feet.

“I can tell that you are, though. Come on, Yuri, it's time to sleep,” Viktor said quietly, putting a hand on Yuri's elbow to pull him against his chest. Admitting defeat, Yuri slumped there, putting a good deal of his weight onto Viktor, and dropping his head onto his shoulder.

“Thought you weren't supposed to act like my coach,” Yuri murmured, voice muffled further by the fabric of Viktor's shirt.

“I'm not telling you as your coach,” Viktor said, wrapping one arm around Yuri's waist and curling the fingers of his other hand into his hair again. “I'm telling you as someone who cares a great deal about you.”

He was almost glad that Yuri couldn't see his face, then, because he knew he was blushing.

“I know,” Yuri answered, shifting to pull his glasses from his face, then pressing it back into Viktor's shoulder. “And I _am_ tired.”

It was a long time before either of them moved. Yuri was a warm weight against Viktor's chest, something solid, present, even as his breathing began to slow and even out with the beginnings of a doze. He'd held Yuri before; Viktor was a tactile person and didn't even think about it most of the time, but this was different.

Now, he had express permission for this—to stroke his fingers through Yuri's hair and down his neck, to bend his neck down and press a kiss into his temple. It was a heady sensation, after months of waiting, and god but he wanted more—but not right now, not when Yuri was so completely exhausted.

They had time.

“Come on, love,” Viktor said, the endearment rolling off his tongue effortlessly, “You have to actually _go_ to bed.”

Yuri muttered something in reply that may have been Japanese, or may have been the universal mumbling of the half-asleep, but he didn't protest when Viktor gently steered him toward the hotel bathroom to brush his teeth and wash up.

Viktor traded places with him and did the same, and when had finished, he looked out into the room through the open door, finding Yuri still on his feet, dressed in only a soft sleep shirt and his boxers, but looking alert enough now to stare uncertainly at the two beds in the room.

Viktor didn't say anything, just watched as Yuri took a breath, and climbed into the nearer of the two. The one Viktor had been sleeping in, these past few nights.

The sight—somewhat unexpectedly—made his mouth go dry with want. Yuri was in his bed. The animal part of his brain didn't care that it wasn't _really_ his bed, or that he had absolutely no intention of doing anything other than sleeping tonight, and heat curled in his belly.

But he shook it off, finally remembering to turn the bathroom light off and close the door behind him. As quietly as he could, he stripped down to his own underwear and plugged his phone in to charge—it had been going off with alerts almost nonstop, earlier, ever since he'd gotten the bright idea to kiss Yuri on international television, but he'd turned it off after reading the first few. That was a problem for future Viktor. Right now, he had someone waiting for him.

Without a word, he slipped under the covers on the other side of the bed, placing a hand on Yuri's waist. He made a small sound at the contact and rolled to face Viktor, the planes of his face made ethereal by the dim glow filtering in through the room's window.

So beautiful, and so, completely irresistible.

Viktor moved his hand to Yuri's face, a question in the gesture. Dark eyes fluttered shut, and he moved in another few inches, lips almost touching Viktor's, but making him be the one to close the gap. Which he did, without hesitation.

They might have kissed for a minute or an hour; Viktor was so lost in it that he really didn't have a clue. His world had narrowed to the gentle press of the lips sliding against his, the legs tangling with his own, the softness of hair and skin under his hand.

Eventually, Yuri's movements, already long and languid, slowed more and more as torpor set over him. Viktor pulled back and placed one final kiss on his forehead, whispering a goodnight into his hair, and closing his own eyes.

Yuri, already lost in the hinterlands of sleep, didn't reply.

 

* * *

 

When he awoke, the sun was bright through the east-facing window, Yuri was a warm weight against his side, and Viktor had no clue what he'd done to get so lucky.

There was an approximately zero percent chance that he would ever forget even the smallest detail of this moment, but he still wanted to commemorate it. His phone was where he'd left it, across the room, but Yuri's was within reach on the nightstand. Moving carefully as not to jostle the other man, Viktor grabbed it, unlocked it, ignored the flood of messages that _he_ had also received, and opened the camera app.

His hair was a mess, and so was Yuri's, but he thought that would lend authenticity to the photos.

The artificial sound of a shutter going off must have been enough to push Yuri into wakefulness, because he stirred slightly, turning his face further into Viktor's chest and away from the camera.

“You're _not_ putting this on Instagram,” he demanded, voice still thick from sleep.

“I'm not,” Viktor agreed easily, and honestly. “I like that I'm the only one who gets to see you like this.”

Yuri said something in reply to that, but it was muffled, and, honestly, Viktor was too distracted by the sensation of lips moving against his chest to really pay attention.

“What was that?” he asked, but Yuri didn't repeat himself, and Viktor didn't press.

He could have laid there all morning—or forever—just touching Yuri's hair and shoulders and back, but inevitably, nature called, and he excused himself to the bathroom.

When he was done, Yuri was sitting up on the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone with a look of bemusement creasing his brow.

“Yuko's called me thirty-six times since yesterday,” he said, meeting Viktor's inquisitive look.

“Do you need to call her back?” he asked.

Yuri chewed on his bottom lip while he thought. Finally, he shook his head. “Not right away.”

There was a lot unsaid in that statement, but Viktor knew Yuri well enough by now to understand, anyway. And he felt the same. What they had...it had been a long time coming, but it was still new, and tender, and, at least for right now, just for them.

“Do I have anything scheduled for today?” Yuri asked, after a moment.

“No, the whole day's open until our flight this evening,” Viktor answered, unsure where Yuri was going with this. He had confirmed the schedule with Viktor no less than four times before leaving for China—he knew full well that they didn't have anything planned.

“In that case, what did you want to do today?” Yuri asked, a nervous flush creeping up the back of his neck. Ah, so that was it. He wanted the same thing Viktor did—he was just embarrassed to admit it.

Still, he couldn't resist a bit of teasing.

“Well, we have a whole city to explore—Guang-Hong was telling me about a street food stand he really likes, and since he's a local, he would know...”

Yuri shifted, still facing away from Viktor, who took the opportunity to take the few steps over and crawl onto the bed behind him, kneeling with his legs on either side of his hips.

“Or,” he suggested, speaking lowly into Yuri's ear, “We _could_ just stay in bed until it's time to leave for the airport.”

Based on the little shiver he gave, Viktor could only assume that he liked that idea, and he pressed his lips to the side of Yuri's neck, feeling the skin there warm under his touch, felt him swallow as Viktor lightly scraped his teeth over the pulse point.

“But only if that's okay with you,” Viktor said, his voice barely more than a breath, before nipping gently at Yuri's earlobe. He shuddered again, and answered by twisting around to capture Viktor's mouth with his own. The position couldn't have been comfortable, so he tugged at the sleep shirt, breaking apart long enough to arrange them so that Viktor was the one sitting on the edge of the bed, with Yuri in his lap, knees bracketing his thighs.

He almost wanted to reach for the camera again, but Yuri already looked like he might spontaneously combust. Instead, he kissed him, deep and open and hungry, the kind of kiss he'd dreamed about for months, now.

Yuri was newer at this, less sure, but he was a quick study, and where he lacked technique, he more than made up for it in sincerity. He got more comfortable, more confident as they moved together, figuring out exactly what he needed to do to make Viktor shiver, to elicit those small noises from the back of his throat.

He wanted more. More friction, more heat, more skin. Viktor dropped his hands from where they'd been stroking his neck and shoulders down to his hips, cupping his ass through his boxers, but Yuri started at the touch, pulling away from his mouth.

Alarmed, Viktor also drew back, removing his hands to a safe distance. He'd thought Yuri had wanted this, but had he misread the signals again? Was he moving too fast?

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked.

Yuri shook his head, but the look on his face made it obvious that he had more to say.

“No,” he began, and took a deep breath. “No, it's just. I've never...done this before.”

“I know,” Viktor murmured in reply, and paused to press his mouth to the column of Yuri's throat, just for an instant. He'd been nervous his first time, too. “I'm going to make it so good for you.”

Yuri laughed softly. “That wasn't even a concern,” he said, flashing him a smile that he recognized from the _Eros_ routine, but it was gone as soon as it had appeared, and he went serious, hesitant. “You know you're the only one I've ever even wanted to do this with?”

“What?” Viktor asked, genuinely taken aback. “Really?”

Yuri shrugged, looking somewhere over Viktor's shoulder in embarrassment, and nodded.

“You've never fantasized about anyone?”

“Not until recently, no.”

“Not even when you were a teenager?”

Yuri just shook his head in reply.

The cogs in Viktor's head churned with bewilderment. The idea that anyone could go twenty-three years without meeting _anyone_ they wanted to have sex with was difficult for him to understand—wait, Yuri had said “ _until recently.”_

Did that mean…?

“Yuri,” Viktor began, “Do you think about me when you touch yourself?”

Yuri, impossibly, went an even brighter shade of red, but he nodded. Viktor's mind was immediately assaulted with images—Yuri, alone in his room in Hasetsu, in the hotel shower, and—improbably, yes, but _he_ had no issues when it came to having unrealistic-yet-erotic fantasies—in the dressing room at the rink. Yuri, taking himself in his own hand, but imagining Viktor's as he panted and gasped. Yuri, his lips forming Viktor's name as he came. God, just the image alone would have been enough to make him hard, even if he hadn't been more than halfway there, already.

He swallowed, focusing on the very real Yuri in his lap, still so flustered, so self-conscious.

“You don't need to be embarrassed,” He said, leaning in to speak lowly, his mouth brushing the shell of Yuri's ear. “I think about you, too.”

The breathy moan that escaped Yuri's lips at those words was more exhilarating than any skating medal Viktor had ever gotten. He brought their mouths together again, the kiss downright filthy this time, all teeth and tongue, and when he put his hands on Yuri's ass, this time, he didn't start, but only let out what could only be described as a whimper, and rocked his hips forward, his body now completely flush with Viktor's, and, oh, he was hard, and for _him,_ and Viktor wanted to to feel him, to _taste_ him more than he'd ever wanted anything or anyone before.

“Yuri,” Viktor said, not missing the shudder that passed over him at the sound of his name, spoken so intently in a voice gone rough with arousal, “Can I touch you?”

“Viktor...” Yuri said, the end of his name merging with a sigh as Viktor, unable to keep away from him any longer than it had taken to ask for consent, put his mouth back on his neck at the spot where it joined his shoulder, and bit down gently, soothing the sting with his tongue. “ _God,_ yes,” he answered, once he could think clearly enough to form the words.

He didn't reply, not out loud, but he gave Yuri's ass one last squeeze before sliding his hands up and under the hem of the sleep shirt he was still wearing, tugging it over his head and off, then tossing it unceremoniously to the floor.

Viktor leaned back, then, taking the sight in, never wanting to forget even the smallest detail. Lips swollen from kisses, hair an absolute mess, the column of his throat red where it had been scraped by teeth and stubble, eyes gone dark and unfocused with want, all over an unmarked expanse of pale brown skin.

“You're so beautiful,” Viktor murmured, bringing his hands up to touch Yuri's shoulders, his arms, his chest, his belly, and, with one teasing hand, the front of his boxers, lightly pressing his palm against his erection through the fabric and smirking at the surprised gasp at the contact.

“Please don't tease me,” Yuri moaned, even as he bucked his hips into Viktor's hand wantonly.

“Sorry,” he said, and withdrew his hand, but only so he could maneuver them into a better position, flipping them so that Yuri was on his back, looking up at Viktor, who was on his knees over him. He didn't waste any more time, setting his lips to Yuri's jawline and pushing the front of his boxers down and out of the way, wrapping a hand around his dick and stroking it firmly.

Yuri's head fell back against the mattress, his mouth going slack, eyes screwing shut.

For a jealous instant, Viktor was inordinately thrilled that no one else had been with Yuri this way, that he was the first to see him like this. The only one, if he had his way, because Viktor was utterly ruined for anyone else, now, and he didn't ever want to give this—give _him—_ up.

“Tell me what to do to make you feel good, Yuri,” he asked still moving his hand in slow, almost lazy strokes.

“This is—mm, this is fine,” Yuri replied after a moment, turning his face so that Viktor would kiss him. He indulged him for a moment, but pulled back.

“Can I suck you off?” He asked, wanting to make this as good for him as he could—and also unbelievably turned on by the thought of having his mouth on Yuri.

His eyes started open at that. “You don't have to—” he began, but Viktor cut him off.

“I want to. I _really_ want to,” he assured Yuri.

“Okay,” he said, barely more than a whisper.

Viktor left one more lingering kiss on his jaw, then slid down so that he was on his knees at the side of the bed, pulling Yuri forward so that he was sitting on the edge of the mattress. He tugged the boxers the rest of the way off, and they joined the abandoned shirt on the floor.

He wanted to kiss and bite at Yuri's thighs, wanted to taste every inch of him, but he'd been asked not to tease, so he wouldn't. Not this time, at least.

Bracing one hand against Yuri's hip, he wrapped the other around the base of his cock, and leaned in to suck the tip into his mouth, running his tongue around the head, breathing in deep through his nose, enveloped by the warm, musky scent of arousal and _Yuri._

He turned his eyes upward, to see if he was watching him, but Yuri's head was thrown back, his chest heaving with uneven breaths, shoulders shaking when Viktor swirled his tongue over the slit, when his fingers moved in just the right way.

He couldn't take much more of this; Yuri was a force of nature in this state.

His own dick was so hard that it hurt. He took his free hand from Yuri's hip and used it to slide his briefs down around his thighs and took himself in hand, unable to stand going untouched a second longer. He groaned around Yuri's cock at the contact, and the vibration made Yuri cry out in return, hips stuttering forward despite his obvious attempt to keep still.

“Viktor, I'm not—” he trailed off, distracted by something Viktor had done with his mouth, but he understood.

He pulled off just long enough to say, “Come for me, Yuri,” before putting his lips back around his dick and taking in as much of his length as he could, stroking himself all the while, and it was only seconds before Yuri went stiff, then boneless, his orgasm shuddering through him as Viktor swallowed him down.

He came over his own hand only moments later, a little embarrassingly; it had probably been a _decade_ since he'd come so quickly, and without even having a partner touch him. But then—everything really was different with Yuri, he thought, wiping the mess onto the bedsheets.

Viktor pulled off of Yuri's softening cock with a small _pop_ , using his hand to wipe off his mouth, and looking up.

“Well?” he asked.

The sound Yuri made in reply was inarticulate but eloquent, and Viktor grinned.

“What about you?” Yuri asked after a moment, looking nervous.

“What about me?”

“It's, just, uh, you didn't let me touch you,” he said, eyes fixed on something behind Viktor, and, god, he was so, so perfect.

“I wanted to focus on you, your first time,” Viktor said, finally getting off his knees to sit next to Yuri, and kicking his own underwear off all the way. “And I, uh, I already got off,” he admitted, gesturing vaguely as his own dick, already gone soft.

Yuri's eyes widened with an expression that Viktor was coming to recognize as the face he made when he was trying to hide a pang of arousal. Clearly, he was turned on by knowing how much he turned Viktor on. He liked that.

Still, he blushed, and muttered, “I wanted to help.”

Viktor turned Yuri's face toward his, and said, “Trust me, you did,” and kissed him, lightly, closed-mouth, since he wasn't sure how Yuri felt about kissing someone who'd just given a blowjob.

But he just rolled his eyes, and replied, “You know what I mean. I can't let you do all the work.”

Viktor smirked. “Well, there are still seven hours before we have to leave for the airport. I think we have time.”

This time, Yuri was the one to kiss him, using all the tricks he'd already picked up from Viktor. He didn't think it was possible for him to get hard again so soon, but his dick was _definitely_ interested in what was going on.

“Good,” he said, pulling back, teeth dragging along Viktor's lower lip. “Because I've got a few ideas.”

Viktor swallowed, having to blink a few times to fully process what he'd said, his mind gone kiss-sluggish and hazy with renewed arousal.

And then he had to wonder what he'd unleashed on the world in the form of Yuri Katsuki's sexual awakening. He didn't know if there was anyone powerful enough to resist him.

Viktor certainly wasn't—but then again, he didn't want to.

“I'm looking forward to it,” he said, finally, and kissed him again.

**Author's Note:**

> viktor or victor?? yuri or yuuri?? who even knows? i don't
> 
> stay thirsty my friends
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://farseersfool.tumblr.com)


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